Summary: Gracie McCauldon thought her life was running smoothly, until she enters her sixth year of Hogwarts. Her bestfriend starts keeping secrets from her, James Potter and Fred Weasley can't seem to stay away and a surprise visit from her mother seems to make her world implode. Add in Quidditch, Malfoys, Parties and the entire Weasley clan means Sixth Year may not be what she expected. Next-Generation.

A/N OK, my first Next-Gen story! This also in diary format - like Louise Rennison, Meg Cabot & Helen Fielding. It's from the point of view of my OC, Grace McCauldon, a Gryffindor in James Potter II & Fred Weasley II's year. I started the planning for this before J.K. made it canon that James was two years above Albus at Hogwarts. However, I personally prefer the one-year difference, so in this story, Albus, Rose & Louis Weasley are the year below. Please remember to leave a review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights to J. K. Rowling and other affiliations with the Harry Potter Franchise.

CHAPTER ONE

"THE ONE WHERE UNCLE PADDY GETS SLOSHED"

Saturday, August 28th
10.35 am, the Living Room
Status: Annoyed
Weather: Rain

TOP 10 THINGS which Grace Louise McCauldon (i.e. myself) ABSOLUTLY HATES ABOUT HER LIFE [CURRENTLY]:

1) My brother, well half-brother to be precise, Michael (lovingly referred to as 'Mickey') is the absolute bane of my entire existence and has decided, upon turning eleven three months ago, that it is his duty to piss me off every day, without fail. Sadly, so far, he has succeeded.

2) My other brother, a Mr Dylan McCauldon, who is a full brother this time, who hates a) Quidditch b) having fun and c) basically everything I like. You see my dilemma?

3) The fact that my father or Julie, my lovely vegetarian weird-as-hell stepmother, has given me NO SISTERS.

4) Because I have no sisters, older or otherwise, I have no one to share clothes with, no one to steal clothes off of (Dylan's clothes are so god-awfully dull I can't bear to look into his wardrobe, let alone wear the damn things) no one to give advice/have advice given to ones self which could help my SOCIAL AWKWARDNESS and my utter incompetence to make new friends.

5) It's raining. This means a) no playing Quidditch outside b) not leaving my house and c) having to stay inside with both Michael and Dylan (mentioned above).

6) My weird-as-hell stepmother Julie has 'made' cupcakes and wishes us all to eat them. A major flaw in the plan: Julie can't cook. And, because my luck is never around to save the day, I shall probably have to eat them all as Dylan has stated he is allergic to strawberries (what a liar, he was eating them yesterday), Michael has said he wants to keep his appetite for lunch (which he never does) and Dad (even my father is against me) has said he's 'watching his shape' which is utter rubbish as myself and him went out for burgers yesterday when Julie was too involved with a stupid television programme on bees.

7) So, as I have no excuse not to eat them, I shall have to poison myself and become ill for the last days of summer.

8) Adding to my previous point of rain, it means I cannot enjoy my summer because of the stupid British summer weather.

9) My best and really my only friend, Vivian Abercrombie is visiting her eccentric grandmother in Italy and won't be back until the day before we go back to school.

10) Thus, it means my life is totally horrendous as I have no one to share my feelings/woes/anger and have to sit here, in my living room, watching Michael's favourite cartoons because really, there's nothing else to do.

10.47 am, still in the living room
Status: Still annoyed, slightly nauseated
Weather: Still rain

Julie asked me if I was writing about her lovely cupcakes in here.

"You write in that thing a lot, Gracie," she said. "Is it full of compliments about my lovely cakes?"

She only asked me because when I was given a lovely (horrid) cupcake, instead of biting into it and going "Mmm, lovely cakes, Julie, you're the best. You should make these every day!" like a good stepdaughter should I merely took a bite and tried not to grimace, but instead I ended up coughing when a few crumbs ended up in my lungs instead of my stomach. So I made things worse for myself, especially because Mickey and Dylan laughed uproariously at me, and obviously offended Julie, who is now trying to make me feel guilty.

So I told her that I would never write about her cupcakes in this measly old thing, because I'd much rather tell them to her face.

It was a good lie, as it made Julie happy and Mickey and Dylan stop laughing.

And to get to the point why I write in this 'thing' a hell of a lot about what I get up to/how I feel etc. etc. blah blah blah is because I'm so socially lagging I can't show/tell my feelings to anyone without looking like an utter twit. So normally I am this emotionless one-friended girl who has a lot of pent up feelings that wish to escape and do so in the worst circumstances ever.

For example, fourth-year, I fancied poor unsuspecting Justin Lennox, a rather dashing Ravenclaw who I sat next to in Charms. And when Vivian, who is very bossy in a friendly-kind-of-way, told me I should ask him out, and I unwittingly agreed, it all went belly up. You see, when someone (me) fancies one other (Justin Lennox) and asks them out that someone doesn't do it normally. Instead, they bellow it out during dinner for everyone to a) hear b) laugh at and c) talk about it (and the rather bad rejection I got) for the remainder of the week. I was known as Lady Bellows for a month. He also never spoke to me again and I still haven't got over it, even though I am nearly entering my sixth-year as a truly crazy sixteen-nearly-seventeen-year-old.

Also, I never listened to Vivian's dating advice ever again after that and I don't think she blames me, but I also think that she thinks it's not her fault. Which it most definitely is.

Anyway, by now I've finished the cake and I am now feeling slightly ill over it. Dylan, Mickey and I have had a very loving brother-sister-brother conversation about it.

Me: I think that cake is going to come back up.
Dylan: You do look green, a vast improvement, I'd say [Ha ha ha ha, very droll]
Mickey: Hear hear! [Suck up]
Me: If it does I shall make sure that it goes directly onto you.
Dylan: That would be hard as your aim is shocking.
Me: Excuse you, I'm Gryffindor's prized Chaser, it's you that's got the aiming problem.
Dylan: Aiming problem? At least I haven't got a life problem.
Me: Life problem? At least I don't have an annoying-as-hell problem.
Mickey: Mum, Grace said 'hell'.
Julie: Don't say hell Gracie.
Me: It's not like it's a rude word, what's rude is that you think it's rude when actually it's supposedly a place people go to, so in actual fact you're being rude to everyone ever gone to hell.
Mickey: What?
Dylan: It's okay, Mickey, the people from the asylum are coming to pick her up tomorrow.

What a great life I lead. Oh, and Dad has finally turned up (I don't know where he's been but he's got wood chips in his hair so I'm guessing he's making something again) and is saying we should have a family outing like the good old times.

Um. HELLO? IT'S RAINING!

4.45 pm, my bedroom
Status: Utterly frustrated & equally pissed off
Weather: Cloudy

After my father's proposed family outing, Julie suggests we go to Diagon Alley to get our stuff for Hogwarts, which starts on September 1st and is literally only a few days away.

"But it's a Saturday," said Dad. [Congratulations]

"It's also raining," said Julie. [Hello Mrs Obvious]

"So?"

"It means no one will be going to Diagon Alley to fetch their stuff, as it's raining and they'll all be inside."

Julie is one clever witch.

3 REASONS WHY GOING TO DIAGON ALLEY ON A SATURDAY WHEN IT'S RAINING IS AN UTTERLY PERFECT IDEA:

1) There's a 98% chance I shall see no one I know and therefore will not have to talk awkwardly to or try and avoid.

2) Therefore, no awkward encounters in shops, where there will be other people who don't know me and label as mentally insane.

3) And also, no one, means no one in shops. I.e. I can't embarrass myself in various different ways!

My luck has returned from its holiday. I think it goes to Africa in the winter months and the Caribbean in the summer, and sometimes pops in for a quick 'hello' before leaving me stranded.

Oh, and also I've had a major revelation.

I can feed the Satan cupcakes to Stanley!

Stanley is our dog. He's not a puppy but he's not an ancient dog either so usually he goes mental, runs around the garden and then collapses and realises his fun days are over.

Anyway, he also eats anything, which means I can totally feed him the cupcakes slowly so it looks like I'm eating them.

Unless they're so awful it poisons him?

Nah.

5.16 pm, back in my room
Status: Triumphant
Weather: Still cloudy and rather gloomy.
MISSION CUPCAKE A-GO-GO: Complete with major success

I officially did it! I fed Stanley three of the cupcakes (and he is yet to show signs of poisonedness, so that is also a bonus) and when Julie entered I totally faked out on her saying I accidently ate three in a row.

She loves me now.

Where was I before I became triumphant? Ah yes, frustrated.

Julie's idea of Diagon Alley went down a treat, as Mickey wanted to get his new stuff for Hogwarts (wand, robes, cauldron blah blah blah) Dylan wanted a new chess set (what a bore) and I, well I was pleased to leave the house and celebrate my freedom.

So we found ourselves in a vastly empty Diagon Alley forty-five minutes later after travelling by Floo, and running to the nearest shop which just so happened to be the Apothecary. I needed Potion supplies, and so did my brothers, so we were all in the good-good.

It continued this way, and we even stopped off in Quality Quidditch Supplies, which was a pleasant surprise, even when I nearly knocked over a stand of broomsticks and nearly got chucked out. We actually got everything we needed until we got to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

That's when it hit me.

Fred Weasley.

It was wide, common knowledge that Fred Weasley, notorious prankster, one of my top five most-annoying-people-at-Hogwarts list, completely true to his namesake and son of George Weasley, creator of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes along with said namesake, worked at his dad's shop in the summer holidays.

Why did I forget? Did I honestly think, in my puny little brain, that Frederick would choose not to come into work just because of rain?

God, I was stupid.

Though he is in the same year and house as I am I don't talk to him all that much. In fact, I generally avoid him as much as I possibly can as to a) avoid an embarrassing conversation which could add up to b) him laughing at me and c) getting pranked in the near future.

So, there was I, with this unpleasant revelation, hoping to steer my loving family away from the dratted actually-pretty-good shop and into a nicer one like a junk shop, when Mickey, damn him to hell, opened his mouth.

"We can go to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, right Mum?"

And Julie, bless her soul, tried to say no before my dratted father said "Sure, early birthday present, eh Mickey?"

And Mickey, all smiles and grins as he takes his dad by the arm and drags him into the shop, misses my I-shall-kill-you-if-you-do-this glare.

And because Dad and Mickey go in, it means Julie, Dylan and I also have to as well.

Honestly, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is actually a pretty amazing/impressive place which sells some pretty awesome stuff. And usually it's packed with eager students and whatnot, which means I can usually get around without being noticed, but alas, as the rain is driving people away, it is empty save a father and daughter, who's younger than Mickey.

Just when I think my luck gets any worse, I see, and actually catch eyes with Fred Weasley and, low and behold, his best friend and cousin, notorious prankster like himself and son of the-guy-who-vanquished-the-Dark-Lord and all that, James Potter.

When you're the son of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, both famous in their own rights (Mrs Potter played for the Holyhead Harpies), it means everyone knows who you are, it means you have a rather large head and it means you're excellent at Quidditch.

I admit I'm slightly – slightly – jealous of James Sirius Potter's Quidditch skills, but that's beside the point.

The point is, the two blokes I don't talk too much at school, decided to become very talkative and make a point of knowing who I was.

"GRACIE!"

Oh boy.

James, being faster than his cousin, managed to leap onto me first. Literally leap onto me in something he later called a 'hug'.

Pfft, I was nearly knocked to the floor.

I like hugs. Honestly, I do, though only with people I like and not when they're out of pity. But anyway, when a boy who is bordering the six foot range (he's way taller than his dad, which is actually hilarious when I see them on the platform together) leaps onto a poor girl of 5'4"and practically squeezes her to death, it is safe to assume that I don't like it.

And when his stupid cousin lets out a similar yell and jumps in to join I can't say I enjoyed the experience very much.

Luckily for me, my saviour Mr George Weasley came and prised the boys off my body fairly swiftly. He's probably used to doing things like that.

"Don't kill all the customers!" Mr Weasley said, grinning down at me. He too was rather tall, and that's why Fred is so tall himself.

"But its Gracie McCauldon!" said Fred, as if it answered everything.

"We haven't had the pleasure of seeing her since last term!" said James happily.

"Pleasure?" I scoffed. "As if Potter."

"See? She's as cheerful as a ladybug," said Fred, beaming up at his father.

"You're as annoying as Professor Danvers near the holiday period," I retorted.

James snorted with laughter. "Good one, McCauldon."

Even Mr Weasley, who had previously been my saviour, was smirking a little too. I didn't know if this was at or with me at this point in time.

I scowled, shook my hair and stomped away, because really, I did not want stay next to either one of them.

So there I was, bright red and stomping round the shop after my family, who had chosen to disappear at my time of need, when the two boys caught up with me again.

"Didn't mean to offend you, Gracie," said Fred, bouncing next to me. That's the trouble with these two boys, they bounce when they're excited. And apparently that's swoon worthy to all the girls at Hogwarts (minus family members and few sane people) who literally kiss the ground they walk on. When they don't bounce they move in such an effortlessly cool way it could make anyone jealous. And it definitely does.

"You didn't," I replied back, pretending to be engrossed in a box of Nosebleed Nougats.

"How's your summer been?" asked James. I took a glance out of the corner of my eye and saw he was actually serious.

"Alright," I said. Really, my vocabulary is quite shocking, could I really only say 'alright'? I decided to elaborate. "Haven't done much."

"We haven't seen you around here very many times," said Fred. Usually, when Viv is around we go to Diagon Alley quite a bit. Especially at Florean Fortescue's, now run by his grandson Brosnan, who has extended it out into several other shops. The ice cream is awesome, but I know for a fact that the Potters and Weasleys get a friendly discount because their good friends.

"Viv's at her grandmothers' house," I answered. "I've just been sat at home watching television."

"You have a television too?" asked James rather excitedly. "Dad persuaded Mum to get one. I didn't realise you had one." He looked rather curious, because really, being pureblood as I am, it's quite unusual.

"My stepmum is muggleborn," I said.

"I didn't know you had a stepmother," said Fred.

I nodded. "Mm, she's been with us since I was like six. I have a half-brother."

James and Fred looked ready to ask another question and I bet you ten galleons it would have been 'where's your real mum?' or something along those lines.

But George Weasley reappeared (he really is a nice fellow) and ordered them back to work and told them he wasn't paying them to harass their friends.

That's what got me frustrated. He thought we were friends. FRIENDS.

And to make matters worse, Julie and Dad thought so too! Their exact words were: "It's nice to see you have other friends as well as Vivian, Gracie."

THEY'RE NOT MY FRIENDS.

8.19 pm, the kitchen
Status: Stubbornly hiding from the family
Weather: Probably still cloudy

I don't actually know who my mother is. I mean, she was around until I was about three and Dylan was about four (he's in the year above me and yet acts as though he is so much older and mature than I am. Which he probably is. Mature, I mean, not older) but when you're three years old you don't remember all that much thirteen years later. I guess I remember some of her – she definitely had blonde hair, for one thing, which is strange because it is so unlike mine (mine's a delightful brown-not-quite-black colour) so this means I don't look like her all that much. My Dad, a delightful named Jonathan McCauldon, doesn't talk about her all that much. Dylan doesn't seem bothered, Mickey has nothing to do with her and Julie never says anything about her. I'm slightly interested, however, and have always tried to find something about her somewhere.

THINGS GRACIE MCCAULDON KNOWS ABOUT HER MOTHER:

1) She is/was from a pureblood family and was sorted into Ravenclaw at Hogwarts.

2) She left my dad when we were young because she didn't love him anymore

3) She doesn't want to know about us

4) Can't say I like her because of this.

5) She has blonde hair and blue eyes (and I got the blue eyes)

6) And apparently she's tall as well, which is surprising news for me and I'm slightly irritated by this fact. Where did my genes come from?

7) She was three years younger than my dad

Not much to get from that is there?

Anyway, dinner was rather good tonight, which is probably because Dad made it (huzzah!). However, they also seemed keen to discuss my so-called 'friends' with me, considering they were boys and all. Dylan and Mickey found it hilarious and Julie and Dad were very interested. Seriously, I thought I didn't have a life. And also, Dylan really belongs in Slytherin with how sly he was asking all those questions to get everyone interested.

"How did you meet?"

"Did you save them or something?"

"Or slip them a love potion? You'd probably do it quite well, you know."

How he got into Gryffindor is beyond me.

So I am currently sitting in the kitchen avoiding everyone but Stanley, who is chewing Dylan's new slipper having just eaten another cupcake. I had to eat another one at dinner with Julie watching because it was the only pudding available.

And Dad is also discussing which options I'm taking the year coming up because of my O.W.L results. Apparently not taking Herbology is a dreadful crime.

Sunday, August 29th
11.02 am, my bedroom
Status: hiding from parents yet again
Weather: Actually clear.

I got surprisingly alright O.W.L results. I think Dad was rather shocked when I showed him the letter when he got home from work a few weeks after we had left school. I mean, his crazy one-friend daughter who had detention quite a lot of the time and was not at all like his oldest son, actually got alright grades?

It was a shock, I can tell you. Who would have thought that I, Grace Louise McCauldon, would get an 'O' in Transfiguration and Potions, and 'E' in practically everything else and only fail a few subjects rather miserably. I mean, seriously who wants to take History of Magic at N.E.W.T level? Professor Binns, who has been working there for at least one hundred and fifty years, is the most boring teacher in existence. And who cares that I failed Astronomy? I mean I passed Divination, for crying out loud. I think that is the best achievement I got.

Dad was saved from giving me the you-need-Herbology lecture because our Uncle Paddy came round and they're now having a pint in the kitchen talking about the 'good old times at Hogwarts' and asking me what it's like there now.

Even Dylan and Mickey, who is starting in September, have left the room and hidden inside their bedroom. It's annoying too as I really wanted to play Quidditch today, but I have the feeling if I fetch my broom Dad and Paddy will try and play as well.

Uncle Paddy (Patrick) has no kids or a wife, which is really no surprise as he hangs out in the Leaky Cauldron four times a week with his mates, talking about the good old times. That's all they ever talk about.

11.18am.

I got a letter from Vivian today:

Dear Gracie,

I hope you haven't done anything completely mad because I'm not with you and you're alone with your family.

That girl holds me with such support. Me? Mad?

Phineas is driving me mad at the moment because he can't wait to get back to Hogwarts. I bet it's so he can go to the library again, I mean, we don't have one so immediately our house sucks. Grandmother was crazy as always, she insisted on showing us her ghoul family living in the attic which none of us wanted to see, but at least we had our cousins there to make a joke of it.
I won't be able to see you until September 1st, I'm afraid, as there's this late family barbeque I just HAVE to attend which we're catering for. It totally sucks, but remember to save me a seat in our carriage okay?

Save a seat? Who else would sit in MY carriage with ME?

I have a feeling sixth-year is going to be good – no stress of O. or N.E. ! Great isn't it?

See you on the Hogwarts Express!

Your one sane friend

Viv

12.38 pm, kitchen
Status: Nauseous
Weather: still good

Dear Merlin I truly believe those cakes are poisonous. Why would Julie want to poison me? And to make matters 3x worse Stanley's been sick. That means the cakes were poisonous. It's just taking slower with me because I only had three and Stanley had about six.

Poor Stanley, I do love him even though I unintentionally poisoned him because of my own selfish reasons.

12.57 pm, still in the kitchen
Status: Still nauseous
Weather: Decent enough

Uncle Paddy had gone and Dad saw the mess on the floor and asked Julie. She, obviously having no idea that it was her cupcakes which were killing her dog and stepdaughter, asked me about it.

Julie: Gracie, do you know why Stanley's been sick? He was alright yesterday.
Me: I truly have no idea, Julie. (I should become an actress I think, or a professional liar)
Dad: There's got to be a reason why he's suddenly throwing up.
Me: Maybe he ate something in the garden? There are some weird things out there this time of year.
Dad: What sort of things?
Me: Er, hedgehogs. Manure. Slippers.
Julie: Hedgehogs are autumnal creatures.
Dad: Slippers?
Me: It's very nearly autumn, Julie. And yes, slippers could be a main contender.
Julie: I did find Dylan's slipper in his bed.

Hurrah! Problem solved.

1.15 pm, living room
Status: Normal
Weather: Clear and beautiful and I REALLY WANT TO PLAY QUIDDITCH

Ok, problem was not solved because when Julie went out the room, Dad stayed in, unbeknownst to me, and it made me jump a foot in the air when he spoke.

"Don't feed Stanley cupcakes, Gracie."

I thought only Professors and Aurors were perceptive? And mothers?

I feigned innocence.

"Sorry?"

"It could do him serious damage," insisted Dad. "Look, if you want to get those cupcakes away do it another way."

"I think they're poison," I said, utterly serious.

"Don't be stupid, Gracie," Dad sighed and walked away – not before taking a cupcake, squishing it and throwing it stealthily in some kitchen paper! Seriously, my dad would have made a decent Slytherin too.

So now I'm sitting in the living room, my genius plan foiled, asking Dylan to play Quidditch with me.

"Please Dylan?"

"No."

"I'll do something for you in return!"

Ah ha! This got his attention.

"If you play chess with me I shall play Quidditch with you."

Ew, chess. I do like playing it when there is the chance I can win, but against Dylan means NO CHANCE AT ALL.

But the Quidditch vibe is too strong.

"Deal."

YES!

2.45 pm, in the garden
Status: Tired but AWESOME
Weather: who cares?

Okay, that was the best fun I've had for the better part of the entire summer, and not just because I can beat Dylan at something he's shit at. No, no, no, I am very good at Quidditch. I have been the Chaser since my third-year and have been ever since.

I managed to beat Dylan as Keeper every time I even went near the goal, and Mickey, who decided to play as well, honestly sucked trying to be defence. He was useless, even when they both ganged up on me. Brothers.

But as it's still nice weather I decided to stay outside a little longer, because Uncle Paddy came back around because he forgot his hipflask. He loves his hipflask – in fact, he's proclaiming it's like his wife to him right as I write.

"You see, Johnny, this hipflask is as loving as any wife could be – it gives me what I want, when I want, and I don't have to ask it to. Pretty nifty, eh?"

Uncle Paddy seriously needs a girlfriend. Last month Dad and Julie set him on a date with some gal from the Ministry and it didn't turn out so well. Apparently he'd taken her to the Leaky Cauldron and that was it.

It's kind of like what I do to guys, repel them, I mean.

Oh Merlin.

I'm going to be the female version of Uncle Pads.

Noooooo.

My life is shockingly bad right now. Uncle Paddy is now marrying his hipflask. I think he's drunk because he can't even Apparate. Julie said he could stay for dinner. Which is quite good, actually, because maybe he could give me tips on how to become the best man-repeller ever.

To be fair to myself, I have had some very, very good snogs. One-time-things. Like rather slaggy occasions, I have to admit, for example at last year's end-of-OWLs party.

Moving on.

Mrs Potts from next door poked her head over the fence whilst we were playing Quidditch as well. She's an old muggle who really is into everyone's business and hates noise. Which is what we were doing. But Dad has charmed the garden so that whenever we're playing Quidditch it looks like we're playing a muggle sport, football. I haven't ever played football, but Mickey has with his muggle friends and apparently, according to him, it's much better. Kicking a ball with no flying involved? As if, Mickey.

So anyway, she yelled at us that we were making too much noise and that if we didn't shut up she would call the muggle police, which we all had a good laugh at before telling her that we had a right to play football in our garden at two o'clock in the afternoon, loud or otherwise. She then got very angry and started throwing her shoes at us, which apparently the only things she had which she could throw at that time. I was rather pleased it wasn't a trowel or something garden-related, because it could hurt. But the thing was, when she returned inside to get more shoes and what-not, and we threw her shoes back over the fence, we decided to make a game of it.

RULES OF THE MCCAULDON SIBLING'S DODGING GAME:

#1 If hit on any part of the body, as in feet, leg, arm, chest, head or other place, twenty points will be taken off.

#2 If it is a 'near miss', which will be decided as a collaboration of all participants and the majority wins, you receive twenty-five points.

#3 Pushing is against the rules, as well as elbowing, spitting on thrower, calling s/he names to get more things thrown at you.

#4 If said thrower gets hit by a missile one has thrown, twenty points will be given.

#5 If hit three times the player is out. Last person standing wins fifty points before it starts again.

That's probably the reason I'm tired, because by the time we'd finished dodging and throwing back and Potty yelling herself hoarse, Dad and Julie had figured out what was going on and accidentally let Stanley into the garden, who then proceeded to think it was great fun too and chased us around the garden.

3.08 pm, my bedroom
still good weather

Julie and Dad went round Mrs Potts's house and calmed her down and then came home and banished us all into our rooms (Uncle Paddy was laughing his head off and making sparks come out of his wand) until dinnertime.

I don't think Mrs Potts likes us very much, not that she did in the first place. Whilst my banishment is still in progress, I've decided to write back to Viv.

Dear Viv,

I am controlling my crazy mind by playing Quidditch and making up a game with Potty Mrs Potts. She started throwing stuff at us, so really, there's no way Dylan, Mickey and I shouldn't make a game of it? But now we've all been banished to our rooms whilst Dad and Julie sort Mrs Potts and Uncle Paddy out, who is obscenely drunk and is singing 'We Three Wizards of Merlin's Realm' at this current time even though Dad and Julie insist it isn't the right moment.
Don't be bothered by Phineas, he really is lovely. Care to swap Dylan and Mickey? The offer still stands from last year.
And really, dear Vivian, who on earth would share a carriage with me apart from you? As soon as they see my face through the glass they shall be gone and I shall be alone once more. And don't have high hopes on sixth-year, because when your friends with me, a crazy old loon who deserves to go to an asylum (I truly believe Dylan has already appealed for me) yet is ace at Quidditch, your years are never what you anticipate.
Honestly, Viv, I can't believe you haven't got grey hair already.

Love your one insane friend

Gracie

10.57 pm, my bed
Status: tired
Weather: it's very dark

As punishment for my, Dylan and Mickey's stupid behaviour Dad took away Dylan's chess set, Mickey's books (which he's been reading avidly) and MY DIARY.

HE TOOK MY – THIS – DIARY!

DOES 'GRACIE MCCAULDON'S PRIVATE DIARY' NOT MEAN ANYTHING TO THAT MAN?

DOES THE FACT THAT I PUT MANY-A-CHARM ON IT WHEN I WAS AT HOGWARTS TO KEEP PEOPLE OFF IT MEAN NOTHING?

If he read it whilst it was out of my loving grasp he shall meet an early grave. Because he's probably shown Julie, who will know it was I that fed Stanley poisonous cupcakes and I that broke her vase and blamed it on Mickey last year. It was a very ugly vase.

Luckily he gave it back when he thought I was sleeping just now. I wasn't, because I was planning a good escapade into getting the diary back involving rope, paperclips and a hammer, and was just about to go through with it. Anyway, I'm slightly disappointed that I got it back so easily, but am pleased as I a) can write in it and not have to get up b) won't have to worry about getting caught and therefore losing the ability to get it back at this time and c) don't have to find a non-existent hammer in the house.

The banishers let us out at dinner and we had to sit through an entire meal with Uncle Paddy randomly bursting into song at every moment. I don't think Mickey's ever heard such language, because the real Christmas songs don't involve them.

While wizards watched their strengthening soup

A-stewing in the cauldron pot,

An ally of Merlin came way down

And stole the fucking lot

To be honest, it doesn't even make sense, and he definitely stole it from a muggle song and randomly added lyrics.

Dinner was over pretty quickly when Paddy started to swear, and Mickey got sent to bed to 'protect his ears'. When he gets to Hogwarts he will not know what hits him.

I just heard a whoop coming from Dylan and Mickey's room which means they've been given their various belongings back. That's a plus side, I suppose, about being a girl with two brothers. I have my own room.

I sent Viv's letter by giving my owl, Mona, a job to do. She is very fat and very docile because she doesn't get out that much. To send letters. Considering that in the summer I only speak to Viv and at Hogwarts I only speak to Julie and Dad.

When did I become this freak with one friend? First year of Hogwarts I was a social butterfly; I can tell you. I even made friends with a few Slytherins. And I was best friends with Viv too, who was friends with a few others.

I suppose it started in third-year when everyone started to piss me off and Viv had a loud argument with James Potter and Fred Weasley and I just so happened to be standing next to them. And when your best friend starts and argument with two of the most popular boys at Hogwarts, known to many as the 'New Marauders' (I bet they started that name up) and that one person doesn't disown them immediately, I guess it was obvious that the rest of the school wouldn't hold you in a good esteem. I can't really remember what the argument was about, but I have a feeling Viv had fancied Fred and something happened and she yelled at both of them … I dunno, my memory is shocking when necessary.

And when you get as many detentions as I do (and Viv, because I really do drag that girl down with me) I probably don't have enough time to make new friends. I'm surprised Potter and Weasley get as much done when they get just as many detentions, if not more, than I do. On one of the rare occasions that the two boys and I are in the same conversation, they do like to bring it up and demand some sort of competition to see who wins. I think Fred won last year, with one hundred and three detentions, which really is extraordinary. James and I were pretty close, both having eighty and something. Last year was pretty bad for detentions, and I blame my many professors who decided O.W.L year was a year where they were going to give a lot of detentions and a lot of homework at the same time.

A lot of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products got used last year, to get out of class. But not to merely skive off like rebels as we are, no, they were used to students could go to the library and catch up on work and probably sleep too. That is, before the crazy librarian Madam Huntz ratted you out after finding out which year you were in.

I think she is from a mad German descendant because she apparently gets sloshed in Hogsmeade when she's not marching around her library, screaming like a vulture when even one of her books are put in the wrong place. It might be French. Or English. I have no idea, but she was the protégée of Madam Pince, the previous mad librarian, who retired when someone nearly blew the library up because they 'accidentally' set off some fireworks. Fireworks are now banned in the library, but I really don't think they were allowed in the first place –

Uh oh. I think Dad's realised why my light's on.